"How, sir."

"Well, madam."

"Keep your promise."

"Please to indicate it."

"I refer, sir, to your college album."

"Oh, certainly! here it is, my darling—all ready."

And Mr. Ralph Ashley, between whom and Miss Fanny this dialogue had taken place, seated himself beneath a magnificent tulip-tree; and with a movement of the head suggested a similar proceeding to the rest.

All being seated, the young man drew from his breast-pocket a small volume, bound in leather, and with a nod to Fanny, said:

"I have changed my mind—I can't read but two or three."

"Broken your promise, you mean."

"No, my own;—oh, no."

"Ralph, you are really too impudent!"

"How, pray?"

"And presumptuous!"

"Why?"

"Because, sir—"

"I call you 'my own' in advance? Eh?"

"Yes, sir!"

Fanny had uttered the words without reflection—intending them as a reply to Mr. Ralph's sentence, the words "in advance," being omitted therefrom. Everybody saw her mistake at once, and a shout of laughter greeted the reply.

Ralph assumed a close and cautious expression, and said:

"Well—I will be more careful in future. The fact is, that people who are to be married, should be as chary of their endearments, in public, as those who are married."

General laughter and assent—except from Fanny, who was blushing.

"Nothing is more disagreeable," continued Ralph, philosophically, "than these public evidences of affection; it is positively shocking to see and hear two married people exchanging their 'dears' and 'dearests,' 'loves' and 'darlings'—especially to bachelors; it is really insulting! Therefore, it is equally in bad taste with those who are to be married;—logically, consequently, and in the third place—and lastly—it is not proper, between myself and you, my Fanny—hum—Miss Fanny!"

This syllogistic discourse was received by Fanny with a mixture of blushes and satirical curls of the lip. "Hum!" more than once issued from her lips; and this expression always signified with the young lady in question—"indeed!"—"really!"—"you think that's mighty fine!"—or some other phrase indicative of scorn and defiance.

On the present occasion, after uttering a number of these "hums!"
Fanny embodied her feelings in words, and replied:

"I think, Ralph, you are the most impudent gentleman I have ever known, and you wrong me. I wonder how you got such bad manners; at Williamsburg, I reckon. Hum! If you wait until I marry you—!"

"I shall never repent the delay?" asked Ralph—"is that what you mean? Well, I don't believe I shall. But a truce to jesting, my charming cousin. You spoke of Williamsburg, and my deterioration of manners, did you not?"

"Yes!"

"I can prove that I have not deteriorated."

"Try, then."

"No, I would have to read all this book, which is full of compliments,
Fanny; that would take all day. Besides, I am too modest."

"Oh!" laughed Fanny, who had recovered her good humor.

"Let us hear, Mr. Ralph," said Redbud, smiling.

"Yes—let us see how the odious, college students write and talk," added Fanny, laughing.

"Well, I'll select one from each branch," said Ralph: "the friendly, pathetic, poetical, and so forth. Lithe and listen, ladies, all!"

And while the company listened, even down to Longears, who lay at some distance, regarding Ralph with respectful and appreciative attention, as of a critic to whom a MS. is read, and who determines to be as favorable as he can, consistent with his reputation—while they listened, Ralph opened his book and read some verses.

We regret that only a portion of the album of Mr. Ralph Ashley has come down to modern times—the rats having devoured a greater part of it, no doubt attracted by the flavor of the composition, or possibly the paste made use of in the binding. We cannot, therefore, present the reader with many of the beautiful tributes to the character of Ralph, recorded in the album by his admiring friends.

One of these tributes, especially, was—we are informed by vague tradition—perfectly resplendent for its imagery and diction; contesting seriously, we are assured, the palm, with Homer, Virgil and our Milton; though unlike bright Patroclus and the peerless Lycidas, the subject of the eulogy had not suffered change when it was penned. The eulogy in question compared Ralph to Demosthenes, and said that he must go on in his high course, and gripe the palm from Graecia's greatest son; and that from the obscure shades of private life, his devoted Tumles would watch the culmination of his genius, and rejoice to reflect that they had formerly partaken of lambs-wool together in the classic shades of William and Mary; with much more to the same effect.

This is lost; but a few of the tributes, read aloud by Mr. Ralph, are here inserted.

The first was poetic and pathetic:

"MY DEAR ASHLEY:

"Reclining in my apartment this evening, and reflecting upon the pleasing scenes through which we have passed together—alas! never to be renewed, since you are not going to return—those beautiful words of the Swan of Avon occurred to me:

'To be or not to be—that is the question;
Whether 'tis better in this world to bear
The slings and arrows of—'

"I don't remember the rest; but the whole of this handsome soliloquy expresses my sentiments, and the sincerity with which,

"My dear Ashley,

"I am yours,

"——."

"No names!" cried Ralph; "now for another: Good old Bantam!"

"Oh, Mr. Bantam writes this, does he?" cried Fanny.

"Yes, Miss; for which reason I pass it—no remonstrances!—I am inflexible; here is another:

"DEAR RALPH:

"I need not say how sorry I am to part with you. We have seen a great deal of each other, and I trust that our friendship will continue through after life. The next session will be dull without you—I do not mean to flatter—as you go away. You carry with you the sincere friendship and kindest regards of,

"Dear Ralph, your attached friend,

"—— ——."

"I like that very much, Mr. Ralph," said Redbud, smiling.

"You'd like the writer much more, Miss Redbud," said the young man; "really one of the finest fellows that I ever knew. I want him to pay me a visit—I have no other friend like Alfred."

"Oh, Alfred's his name, is it!" cried Fanny; "what's the rest? I'll set my cap at him."

"Alfred Nothing, is his name," said Ralph, facetiously; "and I approve of your course. You would be Mrs. Nobody, you know; but listen—here is the enthusiastic:

"MY DEAR ASHLEY:

"You are destined for great things—it is yours to scale the heights of song, and snatch the crown from Ossa's lofty brow. Fulfil your destiny, and make your country happy!"

"—— ——."

"Oh, yes!" said Fanny; "why don't you!"

"I will!"

"Very likely!"

"I'm glad you agree with me; but here is the considerate."

And turning the leaf, he read—

"I SAY, OLD FELLOW:

"May your course in life be serene and happy; and may your friends be as numerous and devoted as the flies and mosquitos in the Eastern Range.

"Your friend, till death,

"—— ——."

"The fact is," said Ralph, in explanation, "that this is probably the finest wish in the book."

"Were there many flies?" said Fanny,

"Myriads!"

"And mosquitos?"

"Like sands on the seashore, and of a size which it is dreadful to reflect upon even now."

"Very large?"

"You may judge, my dear Fanny, when I tell you, that one of them flew against a scallop of oysters which the boots was bringing to my apartment, and with a single flap of his wings dashed it from the hand of the boots—it was dreadful; but let us get on: this is the last I will read."

And checking Miss Fanny's intended outburst at the oyster story, Mr.
Ralph read on—

"You ask me, my dear Ashley, to give you some advice, and write down my good wishes, if I have any in your direction. Of course I have, my dear fellow, and here goes. My advice first, then, is, never to drink more than three bottles of wine at one sitting—this is enough; and six bottles is, therefore, according to the most reliable rules of logic—which I hate—too much. You might do it if you had my head; but you havn't, and there's an end of it. Next, if you want to bet at races, ascertain which horse is the general 'favorite,' and as our friend, the ostler, at the Raleigh says—go agin him. Human nature invariably goes wrong; and this a wise man will never forget. Next, if you have the playing mania, never play with anybody but gentlemen. You will thus have the consolation of reflecting that you have been ruined in good company, and, in addition, had your pleasure;—blacklegs ruin a man with a vulgar rapidity which is positively shocking. Next, my dear boy—though this I need'nt tell you—never look at Greek after leaving college, or Moral Philosophy, or Mathematics proper. It interferes with a man's education, which commences when he has recovered from the disadvantages of college. Lastly, my dear fellow, never fall in love with any woman—if you do, you will inevitably repent it. This world would get on quietly without them—as long as it lasted—and I need'nt tell you that the Trojan War, and other interesting events, never would have happened, but for bright eyes, and sighs, and that sort of thing. If you are obliged to marry, because you have an establishment, write the names of your lady acquaintances on scraps of paper, put them in your hat, and draw one forth at random. This admirable plan saves a great deal of trouble, and you will inevitably get a wife who, in all things, will make you miserable.

"Follow this advice, my dear fellow, and you will arrive at the summit of happiness. I trust I shall see you at the Oaks at the occasion of my marriage—you know, to my lovely cousin. She's a charming girl, and we would be delighted to see you.

"Ever, my dear boy,

"Your friend

"and pitcher,

"—— —— ——"

"Did anybody—"

"Ever?" asked Ralph, laughing.

"Such inconsistency!" said Fanny.

"Not a bit of it!"

"Not inconsistent!"

"Why, no."

"Explain why not, if you please, sir! I wonder if—"

"That cloud does not threaten a storm, and whether I am not hungry?" said Ralph, finishing Miss Fanny's sentence, putting the album in his pocket, and attacking the baskets.

"Come, my dear cousin, let us, after partaking of mental food, assault the material! By Jove! what a horn of plenty!"

And Ralph, in the midst of cries exclamatory, and no little laughter, emptied the contents of the basket on the velvet sward, variegated by the sunlight through the boughs, and fit for kings.

The lunch commenced.